


Walk Through Hel For You

by cranewave



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken | Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword
Genre: Anthro!feline Summoner, F/F, F/M, Female Summoner | Eclat | Kiran, M/M, Tsundere Grima, Undead Grima, Undead Laegjarn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23433496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cranewave/pseuds/cranewave
Summary: As the Order of Heroes approaches the entrance to Helheim, Fjorm begins hoping to see her lost love again. The Summoner sets her up with a team of Heroes, but between hearts and Hel, the road ahead is filled with unknowns.
Relationships: Alfonse/Summoner, Fjorm/Laegjarn (Fire Emblem), Guy/Erk (Fire Emblem), Robin/Grima, Some Fjorm/Sharena
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Much of how I did Grima was inspired by the way he's done in the works by TheSilentChloey. If you're looking for a good read, go check her FE stuff out!

Fjorm sat on a rock, thinking. Veronica and Surtr had been easy compared to Hel so far. After all, Hel was the goddess of death. She could raise the dead to fight her enemies, as often as she wished. It was troublesome, seeing as the Order of Heroes had been required to fight old allies that had perished on more than one occasion, including Alphonse and Sharena’s father. The gates of Hell had been opened, and anyone, it seemed, could walk through. 

“What are you thinking, baby?” Sharena’s voice in her ear made the princess of Nifl jump. “Come on, tell me! You have that pouty face again, what’s on your mind?”

“I… I was wondering…” Fjorm began hesitantly. She knew Sharena didn’t have a soft spot for her old flame. “U-um, if the gates of Hell are open, can’t we make some good come of it? Perhaps bring back my sister, or…”

“You’re hoping to have Laegjarn back, aren’t you?” Sharena asked, settling down next to her on the rock. 

Fjorm nodded, ashamed. It had been five months since the battle in Muspell. Five months since her love had died. In that time, she had completed Laegjarn’s final request, had overthrown her murderer, and had found a new partner. Sharena was kind and understanding, pretty, and a little clueless. Overall, an excellent lover. So why hadn’t she moved on yet? 

Sharena’s next words came as a complete surprise. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll help you find her, how’s that?”

“Y-you would do that? You would be okay with that?” Fjorm stuttered out, confused.

“Whatever makes you happy, honey. Besides, you know I don’t mind sharing, and Laegjarn was pretty hot.”

“Th-that wouldn’t cause problems with others? Polygamy, I mean,” she clarified.

“Fjorm, all three of us are princesses. Nobody would dare tell us what to do when it comes to love and marriage.”

Fjorm just shook her head, not wanting to burst Sharena’s bubble. However, she was too focused on one thing to think about that for long.

“S-so a three way relationship, between me, you, and Laegjarn?”

Sharena nodded. “And before you ask, I’m sure.”

Fjorm pulled her into a kiss. At first Sharena seemed surprised, but she soon surrendered and started to reciprocate, making it long, deep, and passionate. She clearly wasn’t going to waste this opportunity. The princess of Nifl was never the one to start something like this, and she always held back. Laegjarn had been the one to teach her how to kiss, after all. It had felt like a betrayal to use what her lover had taught her. But now…

_ Laegs, I’ll see you soon. Hold on, babe! _

Not far away, at the entrance to the Land of the Dead, the daughter of Surtr was hiding. It went against her nature, to hide from Emblan soldiers, but then again, that nature had been cultivated by her father. He hadn’t managed to turn her into the cruel monster he had wanted to, nor had he ‘cured’ her of her homosexuality, but he had still molded her. Thus, her urge to fight everyone in her way was not a part of her that she wanted to keep. 

_ I can change. Fjorm taught me that. _

Fjorm. The third child of the royal family of Nifl was certainly something. At first, she had seemed weak, like Surtr had claimed that all of the nation was. However, her persistence had caused respect for her to grow in Laegjarn, respect that had become something more when she met the ice princess. A fondness had been all that the general of Muspell had been willing to admit while in her father’s army, but after being captured, things had changed.

Believing that she would never return to the army of Muspell, Laegjarn had allowed herself to feel the attraction she had hidden from herself. Slowly but surely, she had warmed up to Fjorm. And slowly but surely, the warrior of flame had thawed the heart of the princess of ice. The two had gradually become close, then closer, with Fjorm volunteering for extra shifts guarding prisoners, just to spend time with Laegjarn. 

One night had been particularly enjoyable, a night without shackles or clothes or inhibitions, a night that had finally convinced her that she could live with the princess, that her love for Fjorm was reciprocated. 

That had been Laegjarn’s first and last night of making love. The next day, Fjorm had helped her to slip away amidst the turmoil of a battle, and the general had gone straight to save her sister, even at the cost of her own life. She treasured her time spent with Fjorm, even as she was ordered to die, and as her army went against that of her lover, Laegjarn had faith that she would be defeated. 

That had been the end, or so she had thought. When the daughter of Surtr had awoken in Hel, and learned that she was able to return, somehow, to the land of the living, all her thoughts had been dedicated to finding her way back to Fjorm. She desired nothing more than to see the face of her love again, to pull her into a hug and breathe in the scent of her hair, like crushed pine needles and lavender. To kiss her, tongues dancing… 

Laegjarn shook herself out of the fantasy. If she was going to do that, she would have to get by these soldiers. She could try to sneak out, she supposed, but she hadn’t been trained for that. Another option was that she could try to bluff her way out. In theory, it could work, but since she didn’t know much about the hierarchy of the army of the dead, she probably wouldn’t be able to make it believable.

_ Well, I guess I’m going to have to fight anyway _ … Laegjarn frowned.  _ I have changed. This is necessary, not a rampage _ . She drew her sword and stepped out of the shadows. 

The Order of Heroes pressed towards the entrance to the Land of the Dead, winning battle after battle. The Summoner’s squad design skill all but made them undefeatable while in the land of the living, small battalions coordinating to overcome larger forces. 

During one such skirmish, Fjorm stayed back. As Legault’s knife buried itself in the last dead soldier, and Eliwood flicked his rapier across the calf of the enemy troubadour, she slumped against a rock. As the Order approached the entrance to Hel’s domain, her hope slowly faded to depression. It quickly became obvious that finding Laegjarn was going to be a monumental task. The more she thought, the more she became convinced that she wouldn’t accomplish her goal with the Order. But she wouldn’t last long alone in the Land of the Dead. 

_ I’ll request a small team, _ Fjorm thought.  _ People that the Order could do without, but that would be able to help me. _

Shay, the Summoner, cleared her throat above the Ice Princess. Fjorm looked over her shoulder to see the feline sitting on the rock she was leaning against, tail waving. 

“Oh, did you need something?”

The cat laughed. “Yeah. I need this damn world to not need saving everyday. I need some time to chill, you know? But Hel’s not gonna comply. She just wants to kill, to make her realm grow. She wants to increase the number of the dead.”

“Speaking of the dead…” Fjorm started.

“You want to go after Laegjarn, find her and bring her back with you. But you’re realizing that the Order won’t likely cross her path, so you’re going to ask for a team to search for her. Am I right?” Shay cocked her head, an ear flicking under her hood. 

“... I’m not even going to ask how you worked all that out.” the princess had long ago gotten used to the idea that Shay could figure out any puzzle, everyone had, but only a few persisted in asking how she did so. Only Nino, Nowi, and young Tiki would field the question, and then only sometimes. 

“Here’s an idea. How about I summon a few heroes to go with you? Two teams total should suffice. So we would need five new summons.”

“Are you sure?” Fjorm asked. “That much power, used on me…”

“You kidding? With all the soldiers Hel is throwing at us, I have power to spare. I could spend twenty Orbs and not miss them.” 

“Alright…” the princess conceded, and Shay raised Breidablik. 

The first Hero to step out of the shining portal was a myrmidon with green hair and eyes. He held a curved, razor sharp sword in one hand and played with his ponytail with the other. 

“Um, hey. I’m Guy, a myrmidon from Sacae. My skills are at your disposal, I guess.”

The second hero to appear was a mage. Purple hair framed a surprisingly cute face, and ruby robes swished around his body. A tome was held under one of his arms, and he moved with an almost feline grace. His arms were bare, displaying the toned musculature of a warrior used to fighting with a weapon, and the quarterstaff slung across his back served as ample explanation.

“Hello. I’m Erk, a wandering mage and student of Lord Pent. All of my magical expertise is available to you; all you have to do is ask.”

The sword user calling himself Guy whistled appreciatively, earning a glare from Shay. The Summoner’s hand crept to her transformation stone, and Fjorm was briefly worried that a fight may erupt. But Shay just raised the Divine Relic once more.

Light pulsed, and a woman with ashen hair was standing before the group. Like Erk, she held a tome, but the similarities ended there. Where his hair was vibrant and curly, hers was straight and pale. While he was muscular and toned from the front lines, she had the build of a classic tactician. Her robes were purple and black, hanging just a little too big off her shoulders. Her body lacked the muscle of a warrior, and her chest was large and soft. Not at all that of one used to enduring physical hardship. 

The woman, or rather the girl, introduced herself as Robin, the teenage Ylissean tactician, before joining the group eyeing up Erk. The mage appeared to be uncomfortable with all the attention, but kept edging towards Guy. Shay, seeing her chances with him dropping by the minute, raised Breidablik once again.

The fourth Hero to be summoned introduced himself as Dorcas. He held a massive war hammer, its head alone almost the size of Fjorm’s torso, but compared to his giant frame, it looked no bigger than a hatchet. He had red, tousled hair, and the rugged features of an outdoorsman. 

He, too, glanced at Erk. Shay looked away in a huff, so she didn’t notice the familiarity behind the glance -a simple gesture of friendship- but it turned out that that was for the best, as Brieldablik glowed once more in her hands.

This summon felt different. Briedablik glowed purple and black instead of its normal white, and the portal that opened was massive. It crackled with dark energy, lightning bolts spreading like fractures along the edge until they formed unholy runes. A strong wind blew from the opening, somehow neither hot nor cold, yet charged with power. Even before the voice boomed forth from the tear in realities, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind who had been called. 

“Who dares ensorcell the dragon Grima?” 


	2. Chapter 2

This was it. The summoning ritual had backfired, they were all dead. According to the legend Fjorm had heard, if they looked upon the form of the dragon, they were already lost, yet not one of the Heroes present could bring themselves to look away. 

Behind her, Fjorm heard chanting. Shay’s voice rang out clearly over the crackling portal, and the runes around its edge began to move and merge. As Grima’s Vessel stepped through the opening, they twisted down and around it, forming a ring of tattoos around the body’s neck, wrists, and ankles. The portal closed, and Shay collapsed. 

As the abnormal light and darkness faded away, the Heroes got a better look at the new arrival. Grima’s Vessel wasn’t particularly tall or imposing in body, but the aura of magic that surrounded it was tangible, marking the Vessel clearly for what it was. Limp ashen hair moved as if blown by wind. Sable robes fluttered around a thin, slightly wasted body. Even with its power causing it to levitate slightly, the figure was only as tall as Fjorm herself. Were it not for Grima, the figure would have looked much more at home tending a library or writing a grimoire, not stepping out of a massive portal.

However, Grima was a clear part of the being standing before her; one that Fjorm just couldn’t ignore. The dark power of the fell dragon was visible as well as tangible, and the figure’s glowing red eyes drew attention to themselves like no other aspect of its body.

“Robin, it’s… it’s you. A male version of you.” Guy was the first to speak. As they heard his voice, the other Heroes roused. Dorcas shifted his hammer from his shoulder to a two-handed grip, Erk and Robin opened tomes, and Fjorm found herself raising Leiptr to a ready position. Instinctively, she stepped in front of Shay’s prone form. 

Guy glanced away from the Vessel just long enough to notice that he was the only one not holding his weapon ready. He sheathed the sword in his hand, then drew from his belt another. This one had a wide, flat blade and a fancifully spiked crosspiece. A wyrmslayer. 

“You think,” Grima’s voice boomed forth from the Vessel’s tiny body, “that a couple of needles and a few sparks can slow me? I, who laid waste to a world?” 

Startling everyone, including the dragon, chuckling emitted from behind behind Fjorm. Shay, it seemed, was conscious. 

“Empty words, dragon-girl,” she declared. “While it is true that you destroyed your world, you can’t do that here. You’re powerless, bound by the contract of the summoner and the runes I cast. You have to obey Fjorm and me now.” 

Grima growled, and the Vessel launched forward, tackling Robin.

As Laegjarn engaged the dead soldiers, she quickly realized that she was outmatched. They were simple infantry units, with little or no elemental power, while she had been trained to use the fire within herself in combat. While she had been alive, that fire had poured out of her and into her sword, but it had been extinguished with death. She was unable to cleave through shields and armor with ease, but her body moved to do just that. 

Her blade became entangled in a Brave Axe, and was wrenched out of her grasp. She was defenseless.

A spear prodded her back, and Laegjarn raised her hands above her head. “Okay, you got me. I surrender. Take me back to Hel.”

In the blink of an eye, Robin found herself on her back, pinned to the ground more by Grima’s devastating aura than by the body of her Vessel. She wriggled and squirmed, struggling to reach the book that had fallen from her hand, but it was inches beyond her grasp. It had blown open from Grima’s power, and the fluttering pages taunted her mercilessly.

She wriggled more, trying to shift enough to let herself reach the tome. Her fingers had just brushed the leather when Grima’s hand closed about her wrist, immobilizing her hand. Strangely, she felt as excited by being pinned as she did afraid. Something about the power pulsing around her was… enjoyable. She could see why her alternate self had made a contract in order to command this, but she also knew the consequences of the contract. She would not yield to it, but perhaps she could command it another way…

Fjorm said something, and Grima suddenly lurched to her feet, cursing. Shay was grinning visibly, patting the princess of ice on the shoulder. 

“Good job. Thanks to the runes, you can keep her in check. I’ll also give the power to someone else, just in case.”

Fjorm nodded, clearly relieved to be able to share the responsibility. The two of them had just started to discuss which of their company should be the backup when Robin cleared her throat. At Shay’s questioning look, she volunteered to be the other controller.

“Are you sure?” the Summoner asked. “You aren’t worried about how the alternate version of you was corrupted by Grima’s power?”

Robin shrugged. “I’ll have access to the power anyway. I can order her to use whatever spell I would use if I had made the contract, so the idea of gaining the power wouldn’t be as tempting.”

Shay frowned. “From what I’ve seen, power is addicting. Just a taste of it doesn’t sate your desire. Nor does any amount, really. The empowered always want to become more powerful, and everyone fears growing weaker. If you have control over Grima, before too long you’ll want her magic for yourself. You’ll get more demanding in your orders, and eventually, you’ll make a contract both for direct access to any and every spell she can cast and so that you always have that access, regardless of what happens to her current Vessel. The temptation will only grow, the reasons only multiply, and that body Grima is inhabiting doesn’t exactly inspire me with confidence in your willpower.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Robin insisted. 

Shay resisted for a bit longer, but eventually relented, under the condition that she could cast spells on Robin that would bind her if Grima moved into her body. One ritual later, Robin had her power. The Ylissean tactician sauntered up to the demonic dragon, a confident smirk on her face, and ordered her charge to retrieve the book she had dropped. Yes, this would be quite satisfactory.

Erk was relieved when the dragon appeared. True, they were probably all dead, but it was worth it. At least, it would be, if it meant everyone stopped looking at him. 

Afterwards, everyone was too busy to pay much attention to him. The mysterious hooded figure was arguing with the black-robed girl about something, the lancer that apparently had an ice theme was glaring at Grima, who was standing stock-still with undisguised loathing on her face. Dorcas and Guy had settled down on some rocks to talk, albeit with a wary eye on the dragon, and Erk decided to join them.

They were all from the same time and place, so they easily fell into conversation. Nothing much of importance was said, aside from the three of them agreeing that they had no idea what was going on and that they needed to find out at some point. Mostly, Dorcas and Erk did the talking while Guy sat there and listened, making occasional comments. Eventually, the girl left the hooded figure alone, and Dorcas got up to go talk to them about what was going on, leaving Erk and Guy alone together.

Much to Erk’s surprise and delight, the first words out of Guy’s mouth as soon as Dorcas was gone were “I’m glad Matthew isn’t here.”

“Oh?” the mage asked. “I thought you two were dating.”

“We were, but…” the myrmidon paused, choosing his next words. “Well, there’s a bit of a story behind my current… situation. Long story short, I owed Matthew three favors. The first was joining Eliwood’s company rather than fighting you all, and the second was a relationship with him. I don’t know what the third would be, but one good thing about being here is that I won’t have to find out.” 

Erk smiled. “Another benefit is that other people can notice how cute you are without having to worry about a possessive spy getting mad at them,” he pointed out. 

Incredibly, a blush spread across the swordsman’s face. “U-um, what?” was as far as he got before Erk leaned in and kissed him briefly. As the mage pulled back, he saw that Guy was as red as a strawberry, and stuttering too badly to say anything. He could feel color rising in his own cheeks, so he looked down to hide it with his long hair. When Dorcas got back, he found the two of them trying to regain their composure, each trying to find something other than the other to look at, but both smiling. 

“Alright, you two,” the massive axeman said. “We need to get ready to head out. Here’s what our job is going to be…”

Grima struggled uselessly against the spell that held her in check. Why, why,  _ why _ had the worm in the cowl dared to bind her!? It must have known it would only be a matter of minutes before she broke free, and then she would  _ destroy _ it! Nothing could keep the Fell Dragon in check! It was utterly impossible!

And yet, the spell wasn’t breaking. The worm had done it, she (Grima thought the cloaked figure was a female, it was hard to tell) had managed to cast a lasting binding spell! The dragon struggled for a bit longer, then attempted to kill the worm with magic. She closed her Vessel’s eyes and focused, reaching for the dark power that flowed through her, through everything, and snapped it in a way that would destroy the heart of her tormentor. At least, that was her intent. She couldn’t grasp the power, however, and the spell fizzled. It fizzled! Never had Grima felt the embarrassment of having nothing happen when she demanded it!

Glowering, she narrowed her focus and tried again. This time she called upon the power of the elements, attempting to freeze the blood in the worm’s veins with the power of the spell that weaklings called Fimbulvetr. Arcane energy swirled around her, binding her to her target through the ether, and yet it refused to obey her commands. 

What was happening!?

Trying to sear the worm with divine power had the same result, as did attempting to make her go berserk. Within a few seconds, Grima had found that she couldn’t access  _ any _ of the Four Magics! Nothing would obey her, not even her Vessel’s body! 

With nothing else to try, Grima attempted to kill the cloaked figure with the sheer force of her glare. It was a new experience for her, not being able to destroy her problems, but she thought her power should be able to translate into a telepathic projection of her hatred.

All that happened, however, was that she caused one of the veins in her vessel’s forehead to burst. The black, rotting blood that flowed through the once-great tactician’s veins now flowed down the body’s face. Grima continued her glare until the ichor got in her eyes, interrupting her vision and triggering her Vessel’s ancient reaction of blinking and trying to clear the foreign substance out of its eyes. 

The blood flowed down underneath her eyeball, clearing her vision for the most part. If she had access to her magic, Grima would have forced it back into her veins, but she didn’t. It didn’t matter, though. She would take care of it soon enough, and in the meantime it was only a minor irritation. 

She looked up to find the female version of her Vessel, the one that hadn’t been corrupted, smiling at her. The worm spoke, demanding that Grima retrieve the book of magic that had fallen, and she could feel her Vessel bending down to do as commanded. Seething, helpless, the dragon endured it, her hand tightening on the cover of the tome as she extended her arm. The worm took the book, having to tug fairly hard to get it out of her hand.

Seeing this, Grima smiled. She had some modicum of control. She could make life for this worm harder, then offer her power. A new body would be welcome.


	3. Chapter 3

Laegjarn was running. She had managed to take a sword from one of her captors and win her way free of the party, but now they were pursuing her. Since she was dead, the daughter of Surtr was able to run at a sprinting pace forever, if she needed to, but her pursuers had the same power. To make matters worse, they knew the terrain better than she did. All the former general could do was pray that she wouldn’t get caught.

Since Fate has a sense of humor, Laegjarn found herself boxed in at the top of a cliff. She skidded to a stop out of instinct. In theory, her undead body could survive the fall, but survival wasn’t the only thing to consider. In practice, none of the damage that it took would be repaired. She would lie broken at the bottom of the cliff while Hel’s minions picked their way down carefully and retrieved her helpless form. 

A fight here would be dangerous. If a dead soldier managed to push her off the cliff, she would meet the same fate as if she jumped. There was a chance she could push them off, but it was slight. There were more of them than her, and nothing she had tried had stopped them. However, a fight here was her only option. No viable escape route existed, no way out presented itself. Laegjarn gripped her stolen blade and turned, desperately wishing Fjorm was here to help her.

As the Order of Heroes prepared to enter Helheim, the summoner sat alone on what had quickly become her favorite rock in the area. It had a commanding view of the valley containing the portal to Hel’s domain, yet the ledge it rested on was accessible only if one felt like a climb. It was easy enough to get down from, as there was a mudslide a little way along the cliff, and the sunset over the ravine was beautiful enough to warrant the effort, even if Shay hadn’t needed the alone time. 

From a little way down the cliff face came the clatter of rocks. Slightly disappointed, the summoner looked over the edge of her seat and saw Alfonse climbing up towards her. He looked up, saw her, and gave her one of his smiles. Not the thin-lipped affair he gave to the Order when he displayed his usual grim satisfaction, or one of the affectionately tolerant ones he reserved for Anna and Sharena. It was the dazzling one that made her heart melt, the one that was just for her. 

Shay smiled in return, her disappointment evaporating like morning dew, and reached down to give her boyfriend a hand up. He happily accepted it, and she pulled him to where he could stand. He took the chance to collapse on top of her, pushing them both away from the edge and wrapping his arms around her in a hug. Laughing, she pushed him off. 

“How did you know where I was?” the Summoner asked. She shifted around so she was sitting up again, tucking her legs under her.

Alfonse sat up as well, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Oh, you know,” he said. “I just had to look for a secluded spot that only you could get to without risking life and limb, and then spend half an hour trying to convince a wyvern lord to give me a ride up.” He shrugged, although Shay could see that the prince was out of breath. “You really need to find a haunt that someone else can reach.”

Contrary to the impression that anyone that knew either of them would get, Shay knew she was actually the more fit of the two of them. While Alfonse was definitely more muscular, and could put more power into his movements, Shay was more lithe and flexible, and stronger pound-for-pound. Climbing the bluff had been a simple matter of patience for her, while for her partner it had been a strenuous exercise. 

Part of the difference may have had to do with their choice of garb. Shay wore a light, thin cloak over a blouse and tights she’d stolen from Anna, while Alfonse had to contend with the decorated, heavy armor of an Askran noble. 

Alfonse squeezed the Summoner’s ass, dragging her back to the real world. “What’s on your mind?” he asked her, his adventurous hand moving back to her shoulder. 

“Not much,” she lied. “Just thinking about the Fjorm situation.”

“Ah. So she’s really going gallivanting around Hell, looking for the daughter of our most powerful enemy?” the prince frowned. “Are we sure this is a good idea?”

“You know as well as I do what happened between Surtr and his daughters,” Shay responded, wrapping her arms around him. 

“I know, I know.” Alfonse leaned into the hug, his free arm going around her waist. “I’m just worried about how Sharena will take it. She and Fjorm have been dating, and I don’t want to see my sister’s heart broken. What are you laughing about?”

Shay made an effort to smother her giggles. Alfonse was probably the only person that didn’t know his twin would sleep with whoever happened to cross her path on her way back to her tent at night, so long as they were female and above a certain minimum age. Someday, her brother would figure it out, but the Summoner wouldn’t be the one to tell him.

“It’s just that it’s the two of us, alone together, and you’re being serious. This could very well be our last quiet moment before we enter Helheim.”

“Well then,” Alfonse said, starting to unclasp his cape, “let’s act like it.” He rolled on top of her and pulled her into a kiss.

The army of the Order of Heroes marched through the portal and into the Realm of the Dead. Once they were on the other side of the portal, Shay stopped the army and began preparing them for what was coming.

She split their forces in two; half to hold the portal and act as a base camp of sorts, and half to press onward and take Hel’s fortress. Fjorm’s party left at that point as well, heading off into the unknown in order to find her love. As a group of six, they travelled far faster than the army as a whole. Before long, the column of legends and soldiers had disappeared into the fog that permeated the entirety of Helheim. 

The dead were fairly easy to avoid at first. Most of them were moving towards the Order’s army, where they would be destroyed by the numerous Legendary Weapons. Blades like Ragnell and Divine Tyrfing had been shown to easily dispatch the dead, and the number of Bishops in the Order would only make it easier to slay them. However, the further Fjorm’s party got from the Order, the more the denizens of Helheim noticed them. At first, it was just one or two shambling corpses breaking off from the hordes to pursue the little group, but as they progressed, it quickly became clear that they were the main draw. 

Dorcas kept his hammer ready. While it was true that it was designed for slaying armored units, he had found that the weight and solidity of the weapon fit his fighting style perfectly fine. To add to that, it was far easier to flatten a walking corpse than to hack it to pieces with a hatchet. 

The hammer he had now had been a gift from Oswin, one of the knights of Ostia. The armored fighter had attempted many times to recruit Dorcas into Ostian service, even giving him a “sample of the weaponry,” the massive blueish-grey hammer. It was really a beauty, made from a metal that everyone but Shay called mithril. The Summoner seemed determined to call it by a name nobody could make sense of, tungsten carbide, but that was just her. One of the good things about having left the main army was that he wouldn’t have to deal with her strange names.

The summoner had been oddly familiar, Dorcas reflected. She had reminded him of someone he’d known a few years ago, during the whole business with Nergal. There had been a tactician by the same name, with the same keen eye, who had led their forces. The biggest difference was that she hadn’t had any feline traits, although that could have just been concealing magic at work. She had already proved adept at pulling unexpected items from the pockets of her robe, and seemed to have the ability to walk unseen, both traits reflected by the tactician of old, so it wasn’t too far-fetched. 

The sound of hooves drew his attention back to the present, and Dorcas readied his hammer, preparing to defend the group. He wasn’t a myrmidon, with a half-dozen weapons at his belt, nor was he a mage with a whole book filled with options. He was just a fighter, with one hammer, able to use it well. 

As it turned out, he didn’t need to fight. Robin, it seemed, had this one well in hand, as she ordered Grima to annihilate them. The dead body grinned as its host summoned her power, and with a flick of her wrist, summoned a wave of stone that almost fully encased the corpses and caused Dorcas to shudder. A smile danced on Robin’s lips. 


End file.
